Our Buddy

It is early November, which means many faith traditions have recently or are commemorating and celebrating the lives of those who have died. Between August and November, festivals take place all over the world: Samhain, All Souls' Day, Pitru Paksha, Ghost Festival, Obon, Día de los Muertos... all of these are rooted in the most ancient of customs: acknowledging death. Sometimes it is by paying homage to the deceased, other times it is by making light of the whole thing (the secular Halloween holiday, for instance).

If nothing else, religion helps humanity deal with death. And really, what aspect of life is more unpredictable, more frightening, and more permanent than death? Even if one believes in a life after death or reincarnation, you are never again the you you were. And death is one of life's few guarantees. It is the great equalizer. The common denominator. It really is no wonder death is such a huge part of our search for the sacred.

With all of these ideas, and the recent passing of one of my favorite Catholic holy days on November 2nd, I was moved to go and walk around the very old graveyard near my home yesterday evening. This photograph is from that walk. I was struck by how the leaves had fallen, like flowers placed on the old grave of this young child. I was touched by the simple epitaph: "Our Buddy." The dates of his birth and death had faded away, but I took a moment to try to pay homage to the memory of this child, so that he may live a little longer.

Our Buddy